


Prey

by Viridian5



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Drama, Gen, Post-Canon, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-04
Updated: 2010-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-13 13:23:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridian5/pseuds/Viridian5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hunters are hunting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prey

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the _Dramatic Image_ Schwarz CDs.
> 
> The movies referenced are _Say Anything_ and _The Island of Dr. Moreau_ (1996). Pre-reading by Rosaleendhu.
> 
> DISCLAIMERS: All things _Weiß Kreuz_ belong to Koyasu Takehito, Project Weiß, Polygram k.k., and Animate Film. No infringement intended.

Having arrived an hour early, Farfarello waited in the tall grass, slowing his breath, mind, and body. He wouldn’t be heard or felt above the sound and motion of the wind. His skittish prey needed to feel safe before they left cover at dusk and made themselves vulnerable. His fingers couldn’t help stroking the hilts of his knives, but at least he did it quietly. He could explode later.

Farfarello almost jumped when distant yet loud music shattered the near-quiet. Immediately recognizing the song as “John the Revelator” by Depeche Mode, he felt no surprise when Schuldig telepathically revealed his presence nearby by inserting a familiar and weighted band of colors--yellow to orange to red--into Farfarello’s mind. With every living creature in the area spooked by all that noise, Farfarello might as well go to Schuldig than wait for Schuldig to get bored, music blasting all the while, and come get him. If the telepath had come here to stir trouble up, Farfarello wanted to know now, so he started walking and tried to swallow down his annoyance.

“By claiming God as his holy right / He’s stealing a God from the Israelites / Stealing a God from the Muslim, too / There is only one God through and through / Seven lies, multiplied by seven, multiplied by seven again / Seven angels with seven trumpets / Send them home on the morning train / Well, who’s that shouting? / John the Revelator! / All he ever gives us is pain / Well, who’s that shouting? / John the Revelator! / He should bow his head in shame....”

He found a smirking Schuldig holding a small boom box over his head near a convertible sports car, the sunset making his windblown hair seem to blaze. The red car, orange hair, long nearly electric blue coat, very green grass, and yellow, pink, and blue sky made the scene almost too bright and overwhelming to look at, although some of that could be the _presence_ Schuldig exuded, the telepathic weight he could throw around, stronger than the last time Farfarello had seen him. Then he sucked it all back in so even sensitives wouldn’t notice it, becoming just a man holding a boom box in front of a car, a lie.

Up close, it surprised him to see strands of silver in the telepath’s hair. He would’ve thought Schuldig too vain not to dye it to hide signs of aging, especially given the rainbow of colors he’d sported over the years they’d spent together. He carried the hints of silver with flair though.

Gray strands he might have dyed.

“What do you want, Schuldig?”

Schuldig turned the boom box off and answered Farfarello’s English with his own. “If I were really trying to be an asshole, I would have waited for dusk and started blasting music to scare the rabbits and make them keep hiding. Instead, I did it much sooner so you can chase bunnies later if you still want to.”

“Why did you decide to get my attention by aping an American pop culture reference decades old?”

“You saw it with me one night, and I thought you might remember. Too bad ‘In Your Eyes’ doesn’t work for you. ‘In Your Eye,’ maybe?” For a moment he had a distant, almost fond look on his face then grinned and asked, “Wanna go after bigger prey? Brad and I have a job here in Ireland. I thought you might want in. It doesn’t hurt to ask.”

Schuldig hadn’t changed much. Somewhat older, with a few lines on his face, a sprinkling of silver in his ginger hair, and somewhat broader in the shoulders, but he still had that energy and pull and a bright, mad light in his blue eyes. The few times Farfarello had thought about it he’d figured that Schuldig would get himself killed young during one of his restless fits of recklessness or wouldn’t age well if he did survive long enough. Such a Schuldig would be easier to refuse.

Farfarello intended to give refusing a good shot anyway. “I’m out. I’ve been out for a while now. Why would you think I’d be interested?” He had an idea of why.

“We’ve been hired to kill a priest who’s been abusing children for decades. The Church just sent him to a new community whenever his victim count became too high and obvious. The Vatican... well, you know how the Vatican is on this issue. So a group of victims put together the money and the offer. It’s like the assassination version of a class action lawsuit.”

Something inside his soul twitched and stirred, something he’d worked to keep dormant for years. “It should have taught them not to put faith in the Church, which is a good thing.”

“Since God and the Church hierarchy won’t put him down like a rabid dog and this man is a cancer they want excised so he can’t do any more damage to anyone else, they’re taking matters into their own hands. I’m sure you understand.”

He did. Too well. “It doesn’t sound like the kind of job you and Crawford would take on.”

“We have so much money that I managed to convince Brad that we could take on an occasional unusual and interesting job. Besides, this way I get to visit someone I haven’t seen in years and make him an offer.”

“I’m not interested. I have a family.” Thinking of Schwarz taking them hostage to make him compliant, he said, “I don’t want you or Crawford near them. Whatever happens is between me and you.”

Schuldig’s mouth twisted a bit. “I don’t want to get close to Sally possibly as much as you don’t want me to. If I assault someone, I want it to be my choice, not some outside compulsion. Your mate and cub are safe from me.”

He hadn’t worried that Schwarz would take him from his own until Schuldig had appeared like a gaudy hallucination and started talking. “Safe from Crawford as well. Promise me.”

“How did you get the idea that I always honor my word?”

“To me you might.”

“Ja. We were nakama once.”

That gave him a pang of something like pain, just as Schuldig had meant it to. “You could torment and kill this man as easily as I could. Why come to me? Is this some snare to bring me back into Schwarz? I’m not such an easy victim.”

“How can you live like this? It must require repression on a massive scale.”

Farfarello did his best not to think about it. “I was raised Catholic.”

“Good point. Or maybe it’s Sally’s... influence.”

He had a knife in his hand and near Schuldig’s throat in seconds. “Don’t even.”

“Fine.” Schuldig shrugged. “You can do what you want with your life. I’m not gonna force you into anything because it’s not my job anymore. You made your choice. It’s just sad, like a musician who’s not making music. Rabbit hunting makes you a musician wasting his time playing _Rock Band_. Tell me, do you kill the bunnies quick or let them scream a bit to remind you of the old days?”

Rabbits shrieked like human babies when wounded, and the thought of victims screaming in pain through his artistry sent a heated, shivery thrill through him. He hadn’t felt those urges and that hot-blooded madness as strongly as this for years and set it all aside again to say, “I live around here.”

“That’s good. It used to be that I had to care about things like that for you since you didn’t give a shit.”

“I’ve changed.”

“In good and bad ways. At heart, you’re a musician, and I want to get the band back together. I think you should pick up your instruments and _really_ play.” Schuldig came in close to whisper into his ear, “You could do just this one job without committing to come back to Schwarz, and if it makes you feel better you could think of him as a _really_ large bunny in a priest’s uniform,” sending a hot tremor of annoyance, bloodlust, and lust through him from the serpent hissing in and nearly tonguing his ear.

Schuldig could destroy Farfarello’s family just talking to Farfarello alone, his mouth and brain weapons of mass destruction.

Farfarello needed to shorten this meeting. Pulling away, he answered, “I’m not interested.”

“I don’t get you.”

“You’re a mindreader.”

“Like I said, you’re repressing. Big-time.”

“Life is easier when I think about it less.” That had taken time to perfect.

“...wow. But we’re going around in circles.” Schuldig crouched down as a wild rabbit approached him in a somewhat jerky fashion. Farfarello saw its wide eyes and thought he could see its heart pounding in its chest. As Schuldig picked it up and started stroking it, he said, “If you piss or shit on me, Thumper, I’ll make you suffer. Worse than this.” Grinning, Schuldig presented the rabbit to Farfarello, saying, “Want to pet or kiss it? It’s _very_ soft.”

“I refuse. I remember seeing that movie too.”

Schuldig grinned and quoted, “Well, I’m more of a vet.”

“I’m not amused.”

“What? The neck snapping in the movie was kind of romantic, and you’re much less of a wuss than Edward Douglas.” Schuldig’s long fingers caressed the creature’s neck instead of twisting it. “I’m contributing to your hunt.”

“You set them up, I knock them down?”

“You _do_ remember.”

“I’m not interested. I do my own hunting. You handing the rabbit to me with its mind locked into not running is cheating.”

“Are you really talking about fairness or sportsmanship? Short of the rabbit being your size and armed, it’s impossible. You think they’re not terrified as you chase them in whatever manner you consider fair and sporting? Or is it just about this particular bun-bun? Have I personalized it too much for your tastes, to the point that you’re feeling some empathy toward it, as much as the thought makes me laugh? How wonderful that _you_ have the luxury of _not_ personalizing your prey.”

Telepaths didn’t have that option.

Annoyed, Farfarello said, “You can’t guilt me into doing anything either.”

Schuldig looked petulant and pouty, a sign of danger. “At least you’re still as stubborn as you ever were.”

It confirmed Farfarello’s growing suspicions. “You think you’re here to rescue me?”

“Do you need to be rescued?” Schuldig had far too many shrinks involved in his personality gestalt.

“I’m content. I’m not as masochistic as I used to be. I don’t need you to dangle victims in front of me to ‘fix’ me.”

Schuldig suddenly looked sad. “I’ve thought of rewriting you to make you come with me, for your own good.”

“But you won’t, because you respect me.” Farfarello had seen sides of the telepath that few people knew existed.

Scoffing, face-saving, Schuldig answered, “I won’t because it would have to be an extensive rewrite.” He set the rabbit down, smirking as it sped off into the tall grass, pulled a crimson colored business card out of his pocket, and handed it to Farfarello. It had only a phone number printed on it. “If you ever level up to hunting men again, call me.”

“I’m not coming with you.” But he put the business card into one of his pockets and knew he would keep it.

“I heard you the first several times. Fine.”

“No more arguments?”

“You have my number,” Schuldig answered, annoyance mixing into the sadness. Once he drove away, the world seemed a cooler, smaller, less colorful place, although the deepening twilight probably helped that impression.

Farfarello had chosen, and he’d made the right choice. He’d made a family and new life here, and it would be a longer, less injury-inducing, life than Schwarz had offered him. He’d been content.

He’d chosen, so there was no point in thinking about it any further.

He’d _been_ content.

Damn it.

 

  


### End


End file.
